I roll out of my bed to find the doors unlocked and nothing gone struggle into printed trousers, a furry coat I later find has ketchup on and a turban hat my mother knitted, these were the clothes I had to hand. I leave my house and find many others dressed in the dressing up box style with tiny dogs on leads and feel thankful to live in a ridiculous lovely place like Chorlton where we all self consciously strut the hangover Saturday walk in our finery.